


miren

by voksen



Series: WKverse [60]
Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: M/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-10-22
Updated: 2009-10-22
Packaged: 2017-10-28 09:27:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/306413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voksen/pseuds/voksen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ken after Gluhen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	miren

**Author's Note:**

> _miren_ (未練) _\- lingering affection; attachment; regret; reluctance_ \-  (cf Fight Fire with Fire)

Ken sleeps restlessly, drifting in and out of a morphine-fueled haze, waking now and again when they change his bandages, bathe him, talk about him in quiet jargon-filled snips that he can't bring himself to care about.

After a few days they turn down his dosage enough that he feels more _real_ , though the stab in his side aches through the covering of the painkillers now, raw and nagging. He can't blame Aya for it, not really; better to hit him than to not kill the target, and after all, he's not dead. One scar more or less won't make any difference.

Listening to the nurses' conversations, though, he gradually picks up that the not being dead thing was a pretty close call, maybe closer than he's ever had, that for a while after the surgery they weren't expecting him to make it. He's not sure how he feels about that; maybe his body just didn't know how to quit. (He wonders about Yohji and dials up the morphine to put himself back to sleep, but when he wakes up again he feels guilty as hell.)

He's not really sure how long he's been in the hospital - the first few days after the operation are nothing but a blur, and even lately the days run into each other interchangeably: the nurses smile meaninglessly at him sometimes, but they don't talk to him. Nothing breaks up the monotony of pain-drugs-sleep-eat-think.

That changes late one evening, way past visiting hours; he wakes up slowly, opens his eyes like he's sloughing off a year's worth of sleep, sees someone standing at the window on the opposite side of his room, looking out at the glowing city. It's too dark to see well, but whoever it is is too short for Aya. "Omi?" he guesses, wondering if he'll finally get news, whether he'll want the news he has to bring.

"No." As he turns to face Ken, the lights from the window illuminate Nagi's face, then cast it into shadow.

Ken doesn't quite know what to do. Fighting is out; he's too weak just now to put up a fight against _anyone_ , let alone someone who could crush him with a thought. "Oh," he says instead, then, redundantly, "I thought you were him."

"I know." Omi or Yohji might have smiled then, maybe even Aya, but there's no hint of it in Nagi's voice. He walks to Ken's bedside, sits in the chair, looks at him.

Close up, Ken can see him a little better, though his hair falls over his face, obscures his eyes. Ken wonders if he's hiding, and who from; Nagi sits and watches, expression impassive, inscrutable.

"You asked for me," Nagi says finally, and Ken starts, the sudden movement pulling at his wound, making his breath hiss sharply between his teeth.

He doesn't remember doing any such thing. "I did?" he asks dumbly, his hand groping for the morphine dial.

"Mamoru-kun said you did." Despite the familiar name, Nagi's voice sounds distant, detached, formal. "Some time ago."

It's possible. He isn't really sure why he would have, but he's also not really sure why Nagi would lie about it. "Oh," he says again, squeezing his eyes tight shut for a second and forcing his hand to let go without requesting more. He has a feeling this conversation, or whatever it is, is going to be hard enough as it is without adding more opiates. "Uh, did he say why?"

"No."

"Oh." Ken rallies a little, remembers Nagi saving Aya - saving all of them - at Koua. "But you came anyway."

Nagi nods, wordlessly, but Ken's warming up, now, and the silence isn't long enough to be awkward. "Thanks," he says, and then, quickly, "Do you know what - do you know if Yohji made it?"

There's a pause, as if Nagi's considering how - or whether - to answer. Ken can't tell what he's thinking; his face is shadowed, and what he can see is blank. "He's alive," Nagi says finally.

Ken sighs, relieved; closes his eyes and relaxes back into the pillow. That's good, he thinks, thank God. He'd believed in Aya, but... to survive another building falling on him, Yohji must have some kind of luck. Or not. He opens his eyes slowly, looks at Nagi again. "Did you help him?"

"No." Nagi leans back into the chair, looks over his shoulder back out through the window, giving Ken a suddenly-clear view of the side of his face: pale, sharp-featured, wide, dark eyes. "The wall held and sheltered him from the worst of it. He's in a coma in another hospital."

At least he's alive, Ken tells himself, and that's - well, it's not enough, but considering Yohji's been killing himself by inches ever since that... that thing with Neu, it's something.

"You helped us, anyway, before, though," he says.

Nagi doesn't look back at him. "I didn't do it for you."

"I know." Shifting himself up in bed slowly, carefully, Ken glances away for a moment, uncomfortable. "Thanks anyway. I--"

"Do you think about her, ever?"

Ken freezes. "What?"

"Sister Amamiya."

He remembers: the first time he'd had to kill someone he'd loved. Maybe, he thinks, that had been the beginning of the end. He remembers how Natsuki had died because he'd tried to do the right thing, and he remembers a small boy's grief shaking the church stone from stone. "Yeah," he says, feeling like he's suddenly been dropped into the middle of a minefield. "Yeah, I do."

"Ah." Nagi seems preternaturally still, motionless; Ken can't even see him breathing. It's eerie, uncomfortable, and he reaches for something to say to break the mood.

"I didn't want to do it," he says, surprised at his own conviction, at how easy it is to remember a time when he'd hated killing, what it had been like to get sick to his stomach after every mission, to doubt what he was doing, even if it was under orders. It's been a long time since he'd felt that way, though, and acknowledging that makes something twist uncomfortably deep inside him. "I didn't want to... betray her. To kill her. But she was hurting innocent people, Natsuki died because of her..." He falters slightly - Nagi's still silent, no real indication that he's hearing what Ken says - then presses on. "She had to be stopped. But it doesn't mean she never did anything good."

That gets Nagi's attention, if nothing else had. He turns back to face Ken, though that only makes it harder to see his face again. "Do you think Persia cared if you died?" he asks.

It's not what Ken expected at all. "What?"

"Do you think Persia cared if you died," Nagi repeats, leaning forwards just a little, just enough to make the hair on the back of Ken's neck prickle in warning. "Or would he have replaced you with a new Siberian, a new Weiss, and gone on using them to punish criminals?"

Ken's mouth feels suddenly cotton-dry. "I..."

Nagi waits.

"It's not the same," Ken says. It's like he's making excuses, even though he believes it - mostly, anyway. "We knew what we were doing. We agreed to it." Well... _he_ had. Aya had, Yohji had. He doesn't know about Omi, not really, and he wonders how much Nagi knows about Omi, whether he knows things Ken doesn't, whether he's trying to lead him into saying something or figuring something out. If he is, Ken's too tired and drugged and stupid to get it.

"I see," he says, and stands, walking to the door with quiet, even steps.

Ken can't shake the feeling that he's missing something, that he's about to fuck up real bad somehow. "Nagi," he says, "wait."

He's actually a little surprised when Nagi stops, looks back.

"...I'm sorry."

Nagi blinks. A few long heartbeats later, he nods faintly, then turns away again. The problem is, he doesn't actually open the door and leave, he just sort of fades, _scratches_ out of existence, like Ken's brain has a bad case of static, like something from a horror movie. Raising his fists carefully, he rubs his eyes: Nagi's still gone, no sign he was ever there. He's pretty sure - reasonably sure - it wasn't a dream, but...

He bumps up his dose of morphine, lies back, closes his eyes. All things considered, if he's going to have hallucinations, it could be a hell of a lot worse. Maybe he'll ask Omi about it, see if he really is going crazy... crazier.

 

But Omi doesn't come.

 

More time goes by, slowly getting more and more solid around the edges. The day they let him out of bed for the first time, his knees buckle and the little nurse has to hold him up; his wound is a deep, dragging pain, and he believes - really believes - for the first time that he'd almost died. It's all he can do to shuffle to the bathroom, piss, and get back to bed, but he manages it; once he's on his feet, nothing can keep him down long.

Late the next afternoon, Aya shows up, casual in jeans and a brilliant orange t-shirt that clashes horribly with his hair and makes Ken think of his old sweater, the one Aya had used to wear back when things had made more sense.

They watch each other in silence for a moment, Aya standing in the doorway; then he comes in, sits in the chair, perched on the edge, and it suddenly strikes Ken how sick he must still be of hospitals. "Hey," he says, and half-smiles. "Did you have to stab me so hard?"

Aya shrugs, but these days Ken can read him a lot easier than he'd been able to back in the orange-sweater-days, sees relief in the lines of his face, the set of his shoulders. "I thought you'd be too stubborn to die," he says, and relaxes back a little into the chair, sunlight spilling into the room from the window behind him, making his hair shine redder.

"Yeah, I guess I was." Ken runs his fingers over his knuckles, alternating hands, feeling the calluses, the scars. He glances up, catches Aya watching him, blinks. "Aya - how's Yohji doing?"

He thinks the question might have startled Aya, but he's really not sure why, not until he answers: "He was unconscious when I found him. I brought him here. They said he'd be stable, but now they deny everything about it - all the papers are gone, everything."

It's strange: he hasn't been _thinking_ about Nagi, but now that he does, he remembers it clearly, a little island in the sameness. "D'you think they moved him to another hospital?"

Aya frowns. "They might have, but..."

"If Omi told them to..."

A little bit of tightness creeps into Aya, his eyes narrowing, barely noticeable. "Takatori Mamoru," he says.

Ken blinks. "Huh?"

"He's picked for good," Aya says, his words heavy, somehow, although he doesn't sound any different, doesn't sound angry. "Weiss is over, for us, anyway. He'll probably find replacements."

That reminds him of that conversation with Nagi, too, and he closes his eyes, trying to shake it off. "Did I say anything ... do you know if I said anything weird, while I was out of it? Asked for ... anything?"

There's a confused pause; it definitely hadn't been what Aya had been expecting him to say. (Honestly, he's still working on that Weiss-being-over for good thing; it hadn't lasted before, that's for sure, and he'd been glad of it, because what's a guy like him going to do without it, without a safe place to do the only thing he's good at, the only thing he likes doing anymore?)

"I don't know," Aya says after a while, carefully, as if stepping around broken glass. "Listen, Ken-" (Ken opens his eyes, watches Aya stand, reach into the pocket of his jeans, pull out a folded piece of paper), "-I'm leaving."

The paper floats down to Ken's bed, spinning slightly, like a maple seed falling; it makes Ken think of flowers, of killing. He picks it up, smooths it open: an airplane ticket.

"Come with me," Aya says, and Ken's breath catches in his throat.

"Okay," he says, "okay."

The ticket's warm from Aya's body; he holds it tight, traces the edges with his thumb, wonders how fast he can learn English.

"All right," Aya says. "Good."

The door opens and they both look over, startled, at a nurse.

"Visiting hours are over," she tells them gently, although Ken can see she's surprised he has a visitor at all.

Aya nods. "I'll see you," he says to Ken, and leaves, his long, sword-callused fingers trailing over the bed on the way out, inches away from Ken's legs.

The door opens, closes, and Ken lets out a breath he hadn't really been aware he'd been holding.

 

After that, Ken works harder. The ticket says two weeks away; he can do it, he knows. The doctors warn him that he's pushing himself too hard, but he brushes that away. He knows himself, knows the limits of his body, after living or dying by it for years. And he's more careful than they know - the ticket is stamped non-refundable, non-exchangable, non-transferrable, and he's not going to miss this, not going to turn down Aya's offer.

His strength comes back fast, as he knew it would, fueled by exercise and surprising amounts of bland hospital food. He's always healed quickly and well, anyway.

The staples come out and he gives himself a day to rest, flat on his back in the hospital bed, trying to relax. He's never been good at lying still, though, and the next day he's up again.

It's gonna be a hell of a scar, and maybe he'll punch Aya for it, next time he sees him. Cause he's gonna see him, and they'll stick together, and Aya hasn't given up on him. And Aya isn't crazy, has seemed to get _saner_ the longer Ken's known him.

 

The day they let him out, Ken wanders past the chapel on the way back from his last pointless physical therapy session. He stops outside the door, hesitating for a moment, then pushes it open, goes in.

It's a smallish room, all white plaster and simple, dark wood, and for a moment he thinks it's empty, before he sees a short, dark-haired kid in a hooded sweatshirt sitting in a corner chair, head bowed. Ken doesn't want to disturb anyone, doesn't really even know why he came in; he's about to turn and leave when the kid looks up towards the front of his room, hood falling away from his face and settling around his shoulders: it's Nagi.

The wood of the door is solid under his hand, hard enough to bite into his fingers as he tightens his grip on it, leaving red marks that linger even after he lets go and steps into the room, closing it behind him.

Nagi doesn't look around as Ken walks up to him, sits down in the chair next to him, but there's something that tells Ken he knows he's there.

Ken waits for a while, stealing glances at him out of the corner of his eye, (it feels strange to look right at him) waiting for him to do something, say something to acknowledge his presence. When he doesn't, Ken clears his throat. "Hey," he says, "Listen. Thanks... for telling me about Yohji, before." (He really hopes what he remembered hadn't been a hallucination, an opium dream.)

"He's awake," Nagi says, looking over suddenly and catching Ken's eyes. "But he doesn't remember anything."

"Yohji?" Ken asks, startled.

Nagi nods.

"What do you mean, anything?"

A tiny shrug, and Nagi looks away again, his eyes wandering back to the front of the room. "He doesn't know who he is."

Ken's not sure how to feel about that. His first instinct is to be _relieved_ \- thank God, he won't hurt anymore, he'll be able to live without wanting to die, Ken won't have to worry that he's going to do something stupid, he'll be able to leave with Aya after all - and then the guilt for thinking such a thing crashes into him, and on its heels, grief: if Yohji doesn't know who he is, it's like the Yohji that Ken knew is finally dead, anyway. "...For good?" he asks, keeping his voice mostly steady.

"Probably."

If Aya were here, he'd tell Ken that now isn't the time for grieving. And Aya knows a lot about grieving, same as them all, but the difference is that Aya is smart about it, smart enough that Ken thinks he should probably take the advice, even if it's not really from Aya, but just his own imagining of him. "Ah," he says, and takes his feelings and squishes them up as tight as he can, and pushes them away, forcing himself to breathe normally, calming his heartbeat. He'll get mad later, when he's somewhere where he can afford to break things.

Because now - now that he's pretty sure he's not imagining Nagi, and also pretty sure he hasn't asked for him again, him being here doesn't make sense. He couldn't have come just to tell him about Yohji (even though Aya hadn't known what he'd told him before, so someone somewhere was keeping secrets), but that doesn't leave a lot of possibilities.

He reaches up, pushes his hair out of his eyes, wondering if he's insane for considering this, tosses caution to the wind. "I saw Schuldig and Crawford," he says, his tongue tangling a little on the foreign names, "before." (He doesn't say _at Koua_ , because you don't talk about missions like that in public, even if there's no one in hearing distance, and not being Weiss anymore hasn't really sunk in, no matter how much he thinks about Aya's offer.)

Nagi looks at him again, sharp, _controlled_ , with none of the window-shaking Ken remembers from Penichua, none of the wild destruction there had been at Masafumi's house, at Eszet's museum.

But Ken remembers the way he'd crushed half a dozen people to death outside Koua, easy, quick, while looking just this calm, and hurries on, trying to ignore the way thinking of it makes his hands ache, his mouth taste like old blood. "Did they get out, too? Because I was wondering what you were doing, and so I thought maybe--"

"Yes." He isn't loud, but there's something about Nagi's voice that carries weight, cuts through Ken's flood of explanation, sharp like a blade. Ken hesitates, unsure; Nagi glances at him, continues, as if Ken's asked more with his silence than he had with all those words. "They did."

"But... they're not here." Ken sees _no_ in the set of Nagi's eyes, _why would you think something that dumb_ in the tilt of his head, hopes he's not reading him wrong. "I just... wondered why you were, I guess."

Another small shrug. He wonders if it would be eloquent to people who know Nagi better; to him it's inscrutable.

After a while, Ken sighs. "They're letting me out today," he says, and there's nothing wrong with talking to Nagi about it, with telling him, because he works for Omi - Mamoru - and he probably knows all this already anyway. "Tomorrow, I'm going to the airport. Aya and me, we're going to try somewhere else, somewhere new." Somewhere with fewer ghosts.

He glances over at Nagi, who's doing that listening-but-not-listening thing, or so he thinks, and, well - if he wants to say something, he probably will, like he has done. He doesn't imagine Nagi often sits around and lets people talk at him if he doesn't want them to, and it's not like Ken can stop him leaving, either. "I wonder if it's like running away," he says, half to himself, half to Nagi, his voice lower. "It feels like it, kind of. Even if Aya's not running away. He's... things have gone better for him, lately. Than for the rest of us."

Nagi doesn't comment; Ken drops his face into his hands, rubs his eyes, his cheekbones, laces his fingers into his hair: long, over-shaggy. He hasn't gotten it cut in ages and it needs it bad.

"It's like he's alive," he says. "Really alive. Like he woke up when his sister did, and he's been getting more himself. He's a lot easier to be around, lately. I want... I guess I want it to be that easy."

"It's not."

Ken closes his eyes. It's really not. And maybe he _is_ running. Maybe all of this is just him trying to make excuses to himself, maybe he's getting into Yohji-levels of denial, and that last scares him, just a little, because he's seen in vivid, graphic detail where that path leads.

There's quiet between them again, and he wonders: why is he talking about this, why to Nagi? It's like he can't stop, like he opens his mouth and it just pours out of him.

It's like confession, sitting here in the chapel, telling his sins to someone who sits in silence, hears him out. Except part of confession is being forgiven, and he really, really does not think he'll get that from Nagi. Doesn't know if he _deserves_ it - he would kill Sister Amamiya again if he had to, but she'd been raising him, and look what had happened to Nagi after that. Not that he knows, but given how he is, all silence and anger, the people he keeps company with (himself and Omi included), it can't be good.

He lets out his breath in a _whuff_ of air, stands. "Sorry," he says. "Didn't mean to bother you."

 

Halfway down the hall, he passes the chaplain, who smiles at him, nods. Ken hesitates; when he turns back, the chapel door is just closing behind him. He knows that Nagi's no danger to him, but he goes back anyway, feeling somehow drawn.

He doesn't know what he's expecting to find, looking in. (Does Nagi pray, or confess, or even still believe at all?) What he _doesn't_ really expect is this: an empty room, empty chairs in perfect rows, the chaplain standing up at his podium, glancing up to the opening door with a meaningless, welcoming smile.

Nagi could have left while he had his back turned, he tells himself. (The hallway had been empty when he'd looked.) He smiles back, closes the door, forces himself to walk away, slow, even steps, down the hall, out of the hospital. No one stops him.

 

Ken goes to the airport carrying three things: cash and his fake papers and the ticket Aya gave him. He's hours early, so he walks, long circles through the terminal, trying to exorcise the strange feelings curling in the bottom of his stomach, something like reluctance, uncertainty. It doesn't make any damn sense.

It doesn't work; the longer he's there, the more airplanes that come and go outside the big plate windows, the more off-kilter he feels, until finally someone bumps a little too hard into his barely-healed side and he snaps, catching himself half a second away from punching the sincerely apologizing businessman, his hand curled into a loose fist as if he were wearing his gloves.

Forcing himself to stand down, he bows, walks away; he knows he's not walking away from a fight, but it sure doesn't feel like it.

The second he sees Aya, standing at the gate, looking up at the departures board, he knows he's not getting on that plane with him, that he can't walk away now any more than he could have gone with Yuriko, way back then.

He walks up anyway and Aya looks over with the hint of a smile (which for Aya is as good as a grin), and he feels like a rat. Worse than a rat, because he'd promised he'd go.

Ken's never been good at hiding his feelings, for good or ill, and he can't meet Aya's happiness for long - not with this emptiness in him, the feeling that he's running from things left undone, that he has no business leaving Japan with Aya.

In the back of his mind, Yohji's voice, echoing at him from memory: (You're not really in love, are you? How many people have you killed?)

It's not like that, he tells himself. It's not the same at all. For one, he's not in love with Aya, and Aya can take care of his own dreams: God knows he's done better at it than Ken has.

(Sure, it's not the same. You made it _inside_ the airport before ditching, this time.)

There's a tiny rustle and he looks up: Aya's turned away, walked off, and Ken's heart seizes up. "Ay--" he starts, then closes his mouth, drops his hand. He's lied to Aya enough, and there's no guarantee that he'll ever fix the fucked up mess in his head.

Aya vanishes into the crowd, back straight, head high.

"I'm sorry," Ken says, to nothing, to no one, because Aya hadn't waited to hear it.

 

It turns out he can't trust himself, alone, with nothing to do: he's angry, his head hurts just trying to go through the motions of holding down a job and acting normal, let alone trying to work himself out.

He gets fired, once, then again, and the third time he nearly gets arrested. After that, he goes for a long walk, somewhere where he won't get himself into more trouble, and tries to think it over. It comes down to this: he doesn't want to need help, he wants to take care of himself by himself, but he doesn't think he can anymore.

Not that he wants a shrink, hell no. His head is his business - the problem is, it's not safe out here, in the real world with no buffer, for him or for everyone else. And, fucked as he is, he doesn't really want to hurt people who don't deserve it, but that has a tendency to happen when he gets interrupted while he's thinking or concentrating on something else... more and more often, lately.

Maybe, he thinks, maybe it would be better if he _had_ gotten arrested: in jail, at least he'll only be fighting other criminals when he fights; nothing unusual, nothing wrong there. And fuck, it's not like he doesn't belong in prison.

The only problem with the idea is that, if he does work himself out, he can't just un-arrest himself. He doesn't want Aya to have to wait years just because Ken had a dumb idea and got himself thrown in jail... and maybe it's optimistic to think he _will_ be able to work through it all, but he's got to try.

Thing is, he can't think of anything else where he'll be away from the general population full time, and he thinks for a long time.

It hits him a week or so later, while he's sitting in his cramped apartment eating a stale cup noodle for lack of anything else: sure, _he_ can't tell them to let him out of jail, but that's because he's nobody. (He's supposed to be dead, even, but he'll cross that bridge when he gets to it.)

Omi, though, Omi's not nobody, going by what Aya said about him taking on the Takatori thing full-time. It makes him feel weird, thinking about trading on the Takatori name for his own advantage, after everything _Takatori_ had meant to them, everything they'd done. It feels like betraying Aya, and a little like spitting on his memories of Kase and Yuriko and Yohji.

He goes anyway.

Omi's place is huge compared to his own, even compared to his whole building. They don't want to let him in at first; no real surprise, late at night as it is. He doesn't start to wonder what the fuck he's going to do if Omi won't see him (he can't give up, but he's not wearing his gear and Omi's guards might have guns, and if he comes back later they'll be ready for him) until he's told them to tell Omi who he is and they don't come back for long minutes.

Just as he starts to get really fidgety, they come back, lead him in silently, point the way down a long hall. He glances back over his shoulder as they vanish away, then starts down, rubbing his knuckles unconsciously.

There's light coming from the door at the end of the hall; he pushes it open without thinking whether he should announce himself. Omi's sitting in a big western-style armchair, reading, wrapped up in a robe.

"Omi," Ken says, and then swears at himself mentally; he hadn't meant to get off on the wrong foot, and he's pretty sure that's exactly what he's just done. "...Mamoru."

Omi smiles, but Ken thinks it looks a hell of a lot more like a politician's smile than Omi's real smile. It makes him uneasy, more than he already was. "They said you wanted to see me," he says, closing his book, like he's paying attention more or something. It makes Ken feel like a bug under glass.

"Yeah," he says, and "Look, O-... Mamoru, I want to ask a favor."

It doesn't look like that surprises Omi at all, and that makes Ken feel even lower than he already does. "What can I do for you?" Omi says, leaning back in his chair, looking like he's some kind of banker or lawyer or something. Like he's powerful, and Ken's not.

"I want to go to jail," Ken blurts.

Omi wasn't expecting _that_ , at least; Ken can see it in the slight widening of his eyes. The expression reminds Ken briefly, sharply, of how Omi used to be; then it's gone, just like that, and he says, "Why?"

He shrugs, not really knowing how to put it so it makes sense outside his head. "I have some stuff to work out," he says, eventually, "and it's the best place I could think of to do it."

It's not the best explanation in the world, and he knows it, but Omi nods slowly, like he understands more than Ken's said. (Ken wonders if Omi's maybe got someone watching him, tells himself he doesn't need paranoia on top of everything, figures it's probably only sensible, maybe not even paranoid at all.)

"I can arrange that," Omi says, interrupting Ken's thoughts. "It's not too much trouble, but it'll take a few days to get everything in order. I'll get back to you with the details."

That sounds like a dismissal to him, and it's not like he's got much to talk about with Omi, not anymore. He half-bows, mumbles "Thanks," and heads back out into the hallway.

Someone's waiting in the shadows, and he almost lashes out, but recognizes Nagi just in time, standing silent, almost hidden, next to the wall, his long gray coat and dark hair camouflaging him in the dim light.

Hyperalert, Ken smells the blood on him before he sees it, a dark stain on the jacket over Nagi's hip, with a faint spray-splatter that says it's not his; his eyes, flicking over it, catch the glint of light off a CD case in Nagi's hand.

Ken's not a genius, but he can put two and two together and get four and he can guess who's been doing assassinations now that Persia hasn't got a Weiss to send out.

Nagi watches him in a way that makes Ken wonder how long he's been there, how much he might have heard of Ken and Omi's conversation. He remembers he forgot to ask Omi about Nagi, but going back in there doesn't sound like a great idea. Instead he nods to Nagi, an awkward little bob of his head, and continues down the hall: it goes against every instinct he's got to give him his back, but he does it anyway.

He can tell by the light behind him that Nagi waits long moments, until Ken is nearly out of sight, to open Omi's door.

 

True to his word, Omi sends him what he needs to know a few days later. Ken half expects it to be a video tape, but of course it's not, just a slip of unaddressed, unsigned paper with an address (he looks it up, but one prison is the same as another to him) and a date and time.

He finds out when he goes that Omi's pulled more than a few strings: they don't know his name or why he's supposed to be there but they take him in anyway, strip him, give him a jumpsuit, shove him into a cell with as little talking as possible.

It's not so bad to quit being Hidaka Ken for a while and just be #1257.

 

Ken's not there a week before he gets into a fight. He's not really sure whose fault it is or who started it, just that it feels so fucking good to be able to really fight, to _hurt_ people and not have to try to stop himself, so good it's almost like coming.

When the guards finally break it up, Ken's got bloody knuckles from punching too hard, a black eye from someone's elbow, and he thinks maybe a cracked rib - but the other guys are worse off, and even if they're not dead, no one can say he didn't win. That's the start of his first stay in solitary, and he grins all the way there, the manic energy from the fight still with him.

It burns itself out fast in the dark loneliness, leaving him feeling dully tired. They left his wrists cuffed when they shoved him inside, so he can't do much but sit and think, but then - isn't that why he's there?

He finds out soon that while it's surprisingly easy to remember how he used to be, even not too hard to empathize with his past self, that just makes it _hurt_ to go over and over the things he's done, like digging at a scab, keeping it fresh and bleeding long after it should have healed over.

If there's a better place to start than at the beginning, he's not sure what. Thing is, he can't _remember_ the name of the first man he killed, or even what the mission was or what his face looked like, but he remembers blood on his claws, the awkward slice of blade through skin and organ, stuttering across bone, and how fucking sick he'd been afterwards, because no amount of training prepares you for what it's like.

Ken's pretty sure, whoever he was, that he deserved to die: Persia had always been careful with that shit, hadn't ever been wrong that Ken knew of, though he'd prayed for it twice. But maybe he'd had family or friends who didn't know what he'd done - or did know, and loved him anyway - who mourned him. He knows that's no reason not to have done it (God, does he know), but he tries to think about them, anyway, inventing kids, maybe a lover, a best friend. It all blurs together in his head, muddled by the headache he's had since the adrenaline wore off.

 _I'm sorry_ , he says in his head to his fading crowd of ghosts, and doesn't add _I had to do it_ because the point of this isn't to give excuses for himself, but to face himself.

Afterward there's a long, too long line of other people - but when he gets to Sister Amamiya, he thinks maybe it wasn't long enough. And then after that there's more still, and then Kase, God, Kase.

They kick him back to his normal cell long before he's finished dealing with that.

The next time he gets in a fight, he knows exactly how it happens: at breakfast, one of the guys he'd tangled with that first week takes exception to his face or his voice or something, it's not really important, and punches him in the nose. So Ken breaks his arm and it's back to the hole for him.

He doesn't get nearly the same thrill out of fighting this time, which makes him think maybe it's working, maybe thinking himself through is helping his brain get a little less fucked up. (But he can't bring himself to _regret_ it: he'd had it coming.)

This time around, it goes better: he spends a lot less time beating himself up (mostly metaphorically) and feeling sorry for himself, except for a brief lapse, remembering Yohji slowly getting worse and worse as Ken started to slowly claw his way back to sanity. He's in for a hell of a long time, but even so, when the door opens again, he's not ready for it: he feels a lot more peaceful, for lack of a better word, but strangely empty, like there's a dead hollow inside him where there used to be more bloodlust, anger.

They won't give him more time, though, even though he asks for it; maybe Omi's pull only goes so far. He doesn't feel like mentioning his name to find out; he'll just have to work through it.

It feels at the same time natural and unnatural to shake off the silence of isolation and _smile_ for real. There isn't the will behind it that there should be, but he's pretty sure no one can tell but him.

Maybe everyone thinks he's nuts. Maybe he still kind of is. But they do let him out of the cuffs, and he's grateful for that, at least - and more grateful to get outside for the first time in he doesn't like to think how long.

For some reason, though, it makes him miss Aya. Could be all the guys standing around, talking to each other, like they're friends, thieves, murderers, and all. Could be just seeing the sun. Whatever it is, just missing Aya doesn't change the unfortunate fact that Ken doesn't know what the fuck he's doing still, doesn't even understand _what's_ missing from him, just that something is.

What does change it - what changes _everything_ \- is no more than some idiot who misses an intercept, letting a football bounce across the exercise ground and roll up to his foot.

Ken pulls himself up, traps the ball under his shoe - firm, real, the one other thing besides killing he's ever been really good at - and feels something click into place. When he laughs, it's with real happiness for the first time in so long, and when he dribbles the ball through the pack, no one can touch him.

He stays for a while longer, but he doesn't fight any more: he plays, and he remembers the good times, and he teaches a couple of the guys some moves. It's not quite coaching, because he's a bit out of practice _himself_ for the first time in his life, but it doesn't matter what you call it. He knows no one else gets to leave when they feel like they're done, and maybe, he thinks, playing might help them like it does him.

 

This time, when he goes to the airport, he buys his ticket himself. It's expensive, but he's got the cash - just - and there's no way he's asking Omi for more favors, old money or not. He kind of owes it to Aya to do it all himself, anyway; he'd want it that way.

He's early again, but this time he's not worried. He's going for sure; he's gotta find Aya and apologize for being an idiot, for one thing, and see if maybe he still wants Ken around despite that, despite the months and months that have gone by since he made the offer back when Ken was laid up.

He wanders the terminal again while he waits, but it's saying goodbye, not nerves. And this time, for once, he sees Nagi first - as he's coming around the corner, there he is, leaning against the wall behind the vending machines, looking at something small in his hands, a duffle bag at his feet.

"Nagi?" Ken says, and Nagi _startles_ like a frightened animal. Whatever it was he was holding vanishes - literally, one second there, the next gone. (And Ken thinks back and bumps his evaluations of his own sanity a little notch higher, and his respect for Nagi's powers, too.)

He recovers his composure fast, though, and looks up to meet his gaze evenly. "Hidaka."

"Hey," Ken says impulsively, "I'm sorry I didn't keep my promise."

Nagi blinks.

"I said I'd teach you to play soccer, but... I didn't. I'm sorry." Ken pushes his hair back out of his face, smiles - a little tentative, a little rueful. It's pretty far from punching people to make friends, but it's not like he and Nagi will ever really be equals, and it's also not like he ever expects to see him again, 'cause wherever Aya goes, he doesn't think it'll be Japan. Plus, Nagi would probably smear him across the wall if he tried it.

"Buy me a coffee," Nagi says.

It's Ken's turn to be surprised. "Huh?"

Nagi points at the vending machine, as if maybe Ken is too dumb to realize they're standing next to it. "Buy me a coffee," he repeats, "and I'll forgive you."

Ken fumbles in his pocket for more change. "Really?" He stuffs the coins into the machine, buys two coffees, holds them out to Nagi for him to pick one. The price of a coffee is kind of cheap for forgiveness, in his opinion, but he's not gonna argue.

Shrugging, Nagi takes the left one, pops it open, and drinks, a long swallow that must have finished most of the can. "Stay out of Japan for the next six months," he says when he's done, picking up his bag and turning to go.

This time, he just walks away instead of disappearing - Ken watches him until a group of fat tourists barge between them, blocking his view. He wonders if his words were a warning or a threat or advice or something in between, but he remembers them - and he thinks even if something goes wrong and he can't find Aya right away, he'll do just that. And maybe - maybe - if he and Aya _do_ end up back in Japan somehow after the six months are up, maybe he'll find Nagi and see if he still wants to learn to play after all.

 

***

 

Ken doesn't mean to kiss Aya, when he finally tracks him down in London. It just kind of happens, the both of them tired - Ken from traveling, Aya from working - and a little drunk from the beers they'd had at the bar, catching up, Ken stumbling through explanations.

They get too close, bump into each other going through the door to Aya's flat, and Aya looks back at him, and whatever sense Ken has leaves him and he just leans up and does it. It's not earth-shattering, or the perfect kiss, or everything he's dreamed of or anything like that. It's kind of awkward, actually, and when he actually realizes what he's doing he stops, pulls back, blushing confusedly, thinking _shit,_ did he just trash everything _again_?

He opens his mouth to apologize, but nothing comes out because now Aya's kissing _him_ , hands on his shoulders, tongue in his mouth, and it shocks Ken right out of the worst of his exhaustion. This one's a little clumsy, too, because it takes Ken a second longer to get with the program which is apparently that _Aya wants him_.

It's not like Ken's never thought about it: Aya's a good-looking guy, after all. But they've spent a hell of a lot more time disliking each other than getting along (which Aya has never been shy about pointing out), and besides, he'd never even got the sense that Aya was into other guys, or even up for trying it. Not like it's the first time he's been wrong, though.

"Ken, do you want to..." Aya mumbles thickly into his mouth, letting go of Ken with one hand and reaching behind them to pull the door closed.

Ken wants to. He really does. He wants to be close to Aya; he'd thought it'd be just as friends, as two guys who knew what the other's been through, something like war buddies. But this, this is good, too. Anything, whatever. He's just had more than enough of being alone, even if he's figured out how to keep going, how to keep fighting by himself. "Yeah," he says, "Yeah, _Aya._ "

They end up naked at more or less the same time, in Aya's surprisingly big bed, shoving covers and pillows aside, a trail of clothes leading back to the door.

Aya's fingertips trace over the long red scar on Ken's side, a silent apology in his eyes that makes Ken feel uncomfortable. It's not Aya who ought to be apologizing, he thinks, and rolls them over so he's on top, bends his head, kisses the long line of Aya's collarbone, moves down to lick his nipple, and Aya's reaction to that - a shudder, a low moan - makes him do it again and again.

As he moves down again, sliding over Aya's lean body, Aya reaches down, sets a hand on his shoulder, says "You don't have to."

"Please," Ken says, looking up to meet his eyes, "Please, let me." He's not sure if it counts as begging or not, but he knows if Aya wants him to beg, he will. He still has so much to make up to him and he wants so badly to start now, here.

The hand moves from his shoulder up his neck to the side of his face, Aya looking at him as if Ken is somehow different, suddenly hard to understand. Ken turns his face into Aya's hand, kisses his palm. He hears Aya's breath catch, feels his body shift as he reaches for a pillow, shoves it behind himself, and then yes, _yes_ , he says "Okay."

When Ken sucks him off, it's something not quite like worship, but beyond thanks. It's like a penance he's more than happy to do, each lick and kiss and stroke a prayer: I'm sorry, forgive me, I won't do it again, let me please you. Aya responds, vocally, physically, more than Ken would ever have believed he would; he comes quickly, thrusting gently into Ken's mouth and watching him the whole time.

(And when Aya kisses him, then pushes him back into the bed and takes _Ken_ into his mouth, God, _God_ , it feels like absolution.)

 

In a while, they manage to get comfortable together, working out the awkwardness of sleeping with a new partner, whose limbs go where and how not to elbow each other. Ken's just drifting off when he remembers something. "Aya," he whispers, shifting around a little. "Are you asleep?"

"Aa." Aya snuffles, turning his head into the pillow as Ken's still-shaggy hair rubs against his nose.

"You never told me your _miren_."

There's a pause, a deep, long-suffering sigh. "Go to sleep, Ken."

But Ken already has.


End file.
